


Punica Fides

by sevenofspade



Category: Ancient History RPF
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:55:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/pseuds/sevenofspade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten conversations Hannibal Barca and Scipio Africanus never had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which they are men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sineala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/gifts).



> Much thanks to [AlterEgon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AlterEgon) for the beta.
> 
> "Punica Fides" is Latin for "the Punic faith" and is used to mean that someone is untrustworthy. Whether or not it applies at all to Hannibal depends mostly on how you feel about the attack on Seguntum.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this even half as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Rome, 513 Ab Urbe Condita**

Mago’s being mean and Hasdrubal is a poopyhead, so Hannibal runs away. He’s never been to Rome before. It’s exciting! There are people speaking Roman and oddly accented Phoenician. Also, their food is weird.

He drifts through the crowd until he comes across the empty barracks. They’re huge, bigger than Father’s back in Sicily, bigger than the ones in Carthage, even. Rome had a lot of men.

Hannibal’s father still won, though. Hannibal’s father is the best general.

“Hey!” Someone's calling him. “You can’t be here. I’ll be in trouble if they find you inside.”

Hannibal turns around. There’s a kid his age with flyaway ash blond hair making ‘get out’ motions with his hands at Hannibal. Hannibal goes over instead. Nobody tells him what to do, except Mother. “Do you know who I am?”

The kid’s looking at him and Hannibal sees the flash of recognition in his eyes. “Will knowing who you are make me not get in trouble?”

Hannibal finds himself off-balance. He likes it.

“I guess not,” he says. “I’m Hannibal.”

“Publius Cornelius Scipio.” The kid stands up, straightening himself out to his full size. Hannibal is taller. Ha! Hannibal wins. “But you can call me Scipio. Cornelius is my father.” He pulls a face.

“Why will you be in trouble?” Hannibal decides he likes Scipio. He’s funny.

“The barracks are closed because Rome’s not allowed an army anymore. Also, they’re old and they can be dangerous, so you shouldn’t be here. Plus, they’re boring.” Scipio takes Hannibal’s hand. “Come on, let’s go someplace fun. I have something to show you.”

Scipio takes Hannibal through the catacombs and it is so cool! Even if it’s not really catacombs and more like just a tunnel, but it’s a cool tunnel.

They emerge on a hill overlooking the city as the sun sets and it is beautiful.

“This my city,” Scipio says. “It might not be Carthage, but it’s mine and I love it.”

There are highlights like red gold in Scipio’s hair and his smile is brighter than the sun. Hannibal is going to miss Scipio.

 

 

 

***

**Ticinus, 535 Ab Urbe Condita**

Scipio comes to Hannibal after Ticinus.

“Why join me and why now?” Hannibal clicks his nails against the table. They’re getting long.

“Rome let my father die.”

“Your father is dead because of me,” Hannibal says. He may not have struck the blow himself, but he might as well have.

Scipio shakes his head. “No. I mean, yes, but it’s different with you.”

“How so?” Hannibal steeples his fingers before him.

“What you did, you did without ill will. We were in your way so you struck us down. What Rome did was treason. My father was poisoned, not through action, but through inaction. The wound should never have festered so.” Scipio stands up and goes to rest his hands on the table and lean over Hannibal. “What you do is strategy, what they did is treachery.”

Hannibal looks up at him. “Sit,” he says. “Who would want your father dead?”

Scipio sits. “My father is - was - Consul, who doesn’t want him dead?”

“Most of Rome, if my understanding is correct.” And it is. Hannibal has always prided himself on knowing his enemies inside and out.

“I can give you Rome if you’ll take it.” Scipio rubs at the inside of his wrist, a nervous tick or rope burn, Hannibal can’t really tell. Probably neither.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow at him. “Who says I want Rome?”

“You didn’t cross the Alps for my pretty face,” Scipio says.

“But it’s such a pretty face.”

 

 

***

**Cannae, 537 Ab Urbe Condita**

Somehow, almost impossibly, Scipio survives the battle of Cannae. He’s captured by Hannibal’s troops, but he’s alive and that means he can escape back to Rome.

A man walks in. He’s tall, tall enough that he has to stoop a little to get inside the tent, but not overly so. He’s handsome and surprisingly, his eyes are a muddy green. Scipio’s not quite sure what he expected, but this isn’t it. Blue eyes chillier than alpine snow, perhaps, or grey like the hide of an elephant, but not the colour of a river in spring. It makes sense, he supposes. Given enough time, rivers wear mountains down into nothing.

Less surprisingly, he wears an eyepatch over his left eye.

So. This must be Hannibal, then. Scipio would almost be ashamed of thinking him handsome, but he got over that a long time ago and he has always admired Hannibal’s mind.

“To what do I owe this honour?” He’s been expecting this since waking up alone in this tent. Not even guards inside and so he’s managed to get some leeway on his bonds.

Hannibal sits down in front of him. “You saw my strategy.” Scipio would deny it, but then Hannibal adds, “You sent your troops away as soon as my cavalry started coming back, maybe even before. If Ahirom hadn’t unhorsed you, we wouldn’t be speaking now.”

“At first, I wasn’t sure if that was your plan, but when your Numidians circled back that was all the proof I needed. My men were only going to get themselves killed if they stayed.” Scipio looks up and stares Hannibal straight in the eye. “That was masterful.”

Hannibal bows his head a little as thanks. “Not as much as you seeing through it. I have had days to plan this battle, you had only minutes.”

“I was at Trebbia,” Scipio says, one hand set free behind his back. “I know how you think.”

“Do you?”

Scipio works his knife free from his sleeve. He cuts through the rest of his ropes and lunges at Hannibal.

His blade on Hannibal’s throat, he says, “you’re not going to call the guards.” It’s not a question.

“You’re not going to kill me.” This isn’t a question, either.

 

 

***

**Syracuse, 550 Ab Urbe Condita**

“Romans in Carthage and Carthaginians in Rome. What is the world coming to?” Hannibal speaks Latin, as a courtesy to Scipio. It is not everyone who can march on Carthage.

Scipio acknowledges the favour with a nod of his head. “Sicily is lovely this time of year.”

They both know that’s not why Hannibal picked it for the summit, but it sometimes pays to play the fool. And it is lovely, the sound of wind through chestnut leaves and hooded crows cawing.

“I assume you want your city back,” Hannibal says.

“You shouldn't assume.”

“No? It’s served me well so far. I marched on Rome because I assumed you were away. You were, and I won. There’s not many in Rome who can do what you did in Ilippa. You’re unique, Scipio.”

In another world, Scipio would have argued the point. In this one, he says, “Carthage is unharmed, as much as I could make it.”

It’s Hannibal’s turn to nod and acknowledge a favour. “As is Rome. Your wife and sons are safe and sound.”

“Yours as well,” Scipio says. “She does not miss you.”

Hannibal seems to search his memory at that. “Imilce? I’ve not seen her in fifteen years and she never loved me. I would have been surprised if she did. Still, I hold her no ill will. If I die here, you may marry her to keep her safe.”

“You won’t die here” Scipio says. Then, in a rare moment of honesty passing as levity, “I’d much rather marry you.”

 

 

***

**Ephesus, 560 Ab Urbe Condita**

When the things that aren't gods drop out of the skies, Scipio and Hannibal are in Ephesus. The creatures' terms are simple. Surrender or die.

"I know this feeling," Scipio says, "but I can't quite remember the name. The one where you're faced with something so outside of your understanding that your mind blanks out."

"Is it awe?" Hannibal asks. "Awe's what I felt in front of the Alps."

"No. Not fear, either. I know fear. I've faced you in the field. More like elephants," Scipio adds.

"You beat my elephants," Hannibal says.

"And you crossed the Alps." Scipio smiles.

Hannibal smiles back. "I have it. The word you are looking for, dear friend, is 'challenge'."

And so they go, old men of brittle bone, to face death or glory or both at the hands or pincers of the monsters raining down fire from the sky.


	2. In which they are women

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on names:  
> Once again, I am indebted to AlterEgon for f!Scipio's name, Publia Cornelia Scipionis Caesia, because I would never have figured out the Scipiones went with "Cornelia Scipionis" instead of "Cornelia Scipio", nor would I have managed to cook up a reasonable cognomen.  
> Hanna was the name of Dido's sister.

 

**Ticinus, 535 Ab Urbe Condita**

Hanna took Seguntum by treachery, but you cannot expect a woman alone to take a city by force. With the army taking that city secured her, she could march on Rome.

She won't though, not if Caesia can prevent it.

It had taken a long time, but she had managed to convince her father that Hanna was aiming for Rome. It had taken longer still to convince him that she would do so through the Alps, precisely because no one would expect it.

It had taken her too long a time.

They were too late to stop Hanna from entering the Alps and Caesia’s father would not risk his men in such a fool's errand. They would wait for them on the other side, if they made it through.

So now here they are.

Outside, the battle is raging and Rome is losing. Inside, Caesia has a sword her brother taught her how to use when they were children and Hanna has a sword she knows how to use well enough to get rid of the two legionairs outside.

"Is my father dead, then?" Caesia asks.

"I don't know," Hanna says, shrugging. "Which one's your father?"

As if she didn't already know. Caesia says, "the Consul. The Consul's my father."

"Oh." Hanna grabs some drapes to wipe her sword clean. Caesia knows she's doing it on purpose to annoy her. "Your father's alive, then. Wounded, but alive."

Caesia is relieved. "Thank you," she says, "for telling me."

Hanna finishes cleaning her sword and inspects it. "I could be lying."

"No. Yes. I mean, I suppose you could, but you aren't. There's no point. You don't do pointless things." Caesia kicks at the drapes Hanna let fall. She never liked those drapes anyway.

"No? You seem to know a lot about me." It's not a question, just a statement, almost an accusation.

"I know enough," Caesia says. Then, because she doesn't know everything, "they say you're Hamilcar Barca's daughter."

Hanna sheathes her sword, but Caesia has time to see her eyes narrow dangerously before she does. "They say many things. What does it matter to you?"

"I think after today, you will no longer be his daughter," Caesia says and Hanna's head jerks up to look at her, surprised. "He will be your father, instead."

Hanna laughs. After a moment, Caesia joins in.

 

 

***

**Rome, 538 Ab Urbe Condita**

When Hanna was eight, her father took her to the temple of Baal and told her her name was now Hannibal. Her brothers, he explained, had not her gift for strategy. Then, he made her swear to never be a friend to Rome.

Does marrying a Roman Consul's daughter count as being a friend to Rome? Does it change the answer if it's a condition of Rome's surrender?

Publia Cornelia Scipionis Caesia is not just a Consul's daughter. Her families is one of the oldest, the noblest and more powerful families of Rome. Her father fought Hanna at Tincinus and tried to prevent Trebbia, much good it did him.

In truth, Hanna does not care.

It does not matter who the Scipiones are or who Caesia is, as long as the Romans do not expect children and if they do, Hanna will find a way or make one.

Rome has surrendered, that is all that matters.

Publius Cornelius Scipio's house is made of white marble. There are dark corners still and Hanna's hand does not leave her sword. She does not put it past him to try and kill her now. She might even respect him more, if he did. Then he would not be the man who is trading his daughter like cattle and merely the man using her as bait.

When Hannibal enters the room, Caesia stands up from her chair, strands of hair framing her face with spun sunshine.

She is not pretty, but has a face that would launch a thousand ships, because she would be one giving the order. Her stola suits her, from what little Hanna knows of fashion, but armour would suit her far better, although perhaps that is just Hanna's bias talking. Armour she understands, but not togas and stolas and chignons.

For all this, it is her eyes that draw Hanna's, grey and cold like the Alps in winter.

"So then," Caesia says. "I am to marry the man who brought Rome to its knees, if indeed man you are."

Publius protests. He thinks his daughter insulting, not merely telling the truth.

Interesting, that the daughter is smarter than the father, though perhaps not surprising. It is often the way of the world that daughters are not allowed to prove themselves the way sons are.

"I brought Rome to its knees. Whether I am man or not is irrelevant." Hanna smiles at her. It's her most charming smile. Caesia does not seem convinced.

"And you are not." Her Phoenician is a bit uncertain, but not her meaning.

Hanna concedes the point with a nod of her head. "Your Phoenician is quite good, though you sound like a Tyrian captain."

"Who do you think taught me? It was not Rome. As you have proven, Rome is a fool that only knows one way to do things." Caesia steps closer to Hanna.

"Why did you learn? You did not have to."

"I may not know much about strategy, but I know this much." Caesia's hand grips the handle of Hanna's sword. "'Know your enemy'."

Hanna thinks she could learn to love Caesia.

 

 

***

**Trebbia, 535 Ab Urbe Condita**

The world is supremely unfair, Hanna decides. She knew this already of course, but there's nothing like realising that the two smartest minds on this battlefield have had to hide who they are, because they would not be listened to, if their respective armies knew they were women, to show her how true that is.

Rome and Carthage, two cities alike in stupidity.

As if it was not enough that they had most of their army and Mago, when he had decided to go for Rome by the coastal roads. It would have been faster and they would have lost fewer men crossing the Alps. Sweet Tanith, but Mago was such a fool. He was her brother and she loves him, but he never had any head for strategy. His army has never fared better than under her command.

If they do not win here, at Trebbia, Carthage will lose the war. Maybe not this year, maybe not next year, but eventually. Rome has more men now and its soldiers are its own, not mercenaries.

All Carthage has is Hanna.

It's lucky, then, that this will be enough to win it the war.

Hanna takes Maharbal's horse and gives chase to the escaping Romans with his men. Sorry Maharbal. She'll give it back, she promises.

The Numidian cavalry has always been faster than the Romans, but even its horses cannot run when shot full of arrows. Archers. Gauls, by the looks of them. How clever. They only hit the horses. It seems Hanna has underestimated her Roman counterpart. It's a mistake she won't make again.

Not even if she lives long enough to have the opportunity for it.

The Roman holds out her hand to pull Hanna to her feet. Hanna takes it. There is such a thing as misplaced pride.

The other woman is shorter than her, but more muscular, even accounting for the bulk of Roman armour. She has eyes the colour of the skies over Carthago Nova when there's a storm at sea. Her palm is warm on Hanna's forearm.

She rests her eyes in the hollow of Hanna's throat and a smile graces her face. With her smile, she blazes into beauty. Hanna desperately wants to be the cause of that smile again.

"I am Scipio," the Roman says and the incomplete name does not escape Hanna. "And I will win this battle if I have to kill Sempronius to do so."

"And me," Hanna asks, "will you kill me?"

"It will not win me this battle to kill you." Scipio pushes her hair out of her eyes. It's as short as Roman decency allows and still gets in her eyes. Romans. Always impractical.

Hanna bends forward to whisper in her ear. "And if it won you the war?"

"Murder will not win me this war." Scipio tilts back her head to look Hanna in the eyes. "Only strategy."

"Then Carthage will be no match for you."

Scipio's hand is still wrapped around Hanna's arm. Neither of them lets go.

 

 

***

**Trasimene, 536 Ab Urbe Condita**

Even before she meets her, Caesia envies Hanna. Where her father had no male heirs and Caesia has had to play the part, Hanna has always been acclaimed as her father's heir, all woman that she is. Perhaps it has helped that she has no brothers either.

There is no one else who would have crossed the Alps, no one else who would have won at Trebbia.

But Hanna would not have won at Trasimene, had Caesia been listened to, because there would have been no battle. Even as a man, she is just a boy, though, and Consuls do not listen to boys. If Flaminius is an example, Consuls do not listen to anyone.

There should have been no need for him to listen to anyone. You do not let your enemy box you in between mountains and a lake. It is that simple.

It is not as though Hanna's troops are unused to crossing mountains. You might even say they're experts at it.

So now Caesia is going to die here, drowned in the lake along with what's left of her troops, because today is an even-numbered day and Flaminius is the greatest fool Rome has ever seen. Her only relief is that the Carthaginians take no pleasure in this and the deaths are over quick. This is strategy, not torture.

The man's hand - Maharbal, she thinks, master of horses - is on the back of her neck when Hanna steps in.

"Stop. Not this one." Hanna is taller than Caesia, who is already tall for a woman.

Maharbal shoves Caesia at Hanna and Caesia barely manages not to fall on her face.

"Thank you," she tells Hanna. Her father raised her well. You should always thank those who save your life, even if your life would have been safe already without them.

In the sunlight, Hanna's eye is the green of leaves on the edge of autumn, holding within themselves the promise of brown, red and winter. It's the most beautiful colour Caesia has ever seen.

"Your father was Consul at Tincinus, was he not?" Hanna asks the question like she already knows the answer. She probably does.

Caesia nods.

"You saved him from Maharbal, did you not?" Hanna's Latin is not as good as Caesia would have thought. She wonders how much is a ruse.

She nods. She has a feeling she knows where this is going.

"You were at Trebbia also, then?" Hanna takes a step forward and Caesia stands her ground.

Caesia nods. "I was."

Hanna is silent. Far away, an elephant trumpets.

"Walk with me," Hanna says.

Maharbal starts to protest. Caesia doesn't speak Phoenician, but his tone is clear enough. Hanna silences him with a raised hand.

She walks off, clearly expecting Caesia to follow her, who obliges. They walk away from the lake and, at the foot of the mountains, Hanna sits on a flat stone, facing the shore. Caesia sits next to her. They are far from prying ears. The lakewaters are red. From here, it could be the battle or the setting sun.

"What is your name?" Hanna asks. "Your real name."

Caesia sighs. She was expecting this. "Publia Cornelia Scipionis Caesia. Why do you care?"

"You were the only one who reacted in a way that could have allowed you and your men to make your escape. Had your cavalry been better than mine, you would have. And I care, Publius Cornelius Scipio, because I can only hope that when next we meet, you will remember that I did not let the brightest mind in Rome die."

"You would let me live, knowing what you know, knowing what I know?" Caesia isn't sure why she's surprised. She saw this coming.

"I have never been one to destroy beauty senselessly and, if there is such a thing in Rome that deserves the name, it is your mind."

Hanna walks away. This time, Caesia does not follow her.

 

 

***

**Ephesus, 580 Ab Urbe Condita**

Hanna and Caesia grow old together, in Ephesus.

"Do you ever wonder where we would be, had Fabius chosen war in Carthage?" Hanna is looking out the window into the night. Caesia cannot see her face.

Caesia settles for honesty. She owes her wife nothing less. "I cannot imagine a world where you are not the most important person in my life."

It is not a lie, but it does not answer the question.

Hanna nods as though it does. "We would have been enemies then, more than we were."

"Yes." Caesia sits next to her.

"We would have found each other." She takes Caesia's hand. "I know we would have."

"We are too alike not to." Caesia looks at Hanna's profile, the grey in her hair bringing out the red within the brown.

"Yes." Then Hanna's voice take a hurried tone, as if she's afraid she won't get to say what she'd been waiting to for so long. "I want you to know this. There is no world where you are not the brightest mind I know. "

Caesia squeezes her hand. "Come to bed."

Hanna does not live to see the sunrise.


End file.
